


The Hills of Iowa

by pocky_slash



Series: Iowa [9]
Category: West Wing
Genre: Established Relationship, Ficlet Collection, Insomnia, Iowa, M/M, POV Outsider, Post-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2008-04-04
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-11-14 18:50:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/518405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocky_slash/pseuds/pocky_slash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of ficlets that take place at various points in the "Iowa" universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. what the neighbors saw

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter One: Archie Taylor offers to sell the little house to Will when he first looks at it, but Will insists he won't be in Iowa for long.

Archie Taylor has owned the Borden Farm since old Mr. Borden moved to Florida six years ago. He tore down the farm house and extended his fields down and out across the Borden property, growing corn instead of soy and enjoying the look of acres and acres of it rising up towards the sky.

He leaves the guest house on the corner of the property, though. The college expressed interest in buying it for teacher housing, and the extra money would be nice. It's not a whole lot of space, and as long as the tenants agree not to wander into his fields, he can't find fault with someone living there.

The college never buys it, though. They send someone out to look at it, a young man named Will Bailey, and he _does_ buy it. Eventually.

At first, he agrees to rent it. 

"I'm not going to be here that long," he says. "At least, I hope not." The last part is quiet and to himself. Archie has already heard from the ladies at the diner that Mr. Bailey is Big News, that he used to work in Washington for President Bartlet and Archie can guess that the rolling hills of Iowa probably aren't much his style. Still, Archie liked Bartlet--voted for him twice, even--and Mr. Bailey seems smart and funny and he agrees to rent to him.

He rents for a few years before Mr. Seaborn rolls into town. Seaborn causes a stir with all of the ladies at the diner. He's still handsome, even though it's been some years since his scandalous affair with a call girl made all of the papers, but Archie still remembers him. He gave a speech in town years and years ago, when Bartlet was first running and his campaign was full of bright, energetic young people. He doubts Seaborn remembers, but Archie will never forget his words and the smiles they left on the faces of his friends and neighbors.

News travels fast in small towns, but it's still almost two weeks before rumors about Bailey and Seaborn start to spread. He wonders why it took so long--they're living together, after all, in the tiny guesthouse that Rob Borden built specifically for his in-laws. Bailey and Seaborn don't pay much mind to the rumors, at least as far as Archie can tell. He doesn't think there's anything to them, personally, if only because Bailey still walks around Seaborn like he's afraid he's going to spook or shatter into a million pieces. 

But Archie's busy in the summer, and now that school's over, Bailey leaves the house less often, not that Archie is even around to see it.

He's surprised then, but maybe not too surprised, when Bailey comes to see him in September with Seaborn in tow.

"Hey, Mr. Taylor," Bailey says, smiling and rubbing the back of his neck. It's time for his rent check, but he usually just leaves that in the mailbox. 

"Call me Archie, son," Archie says. "I've told you at least a dozen times."

"I know," Bailey says. "Old habits and all. Um. Remember when I first moved in and you offered me the option of buying the house?" Seaborn freezes. He's pretending to inspect Archie's hunting trophies, but he's really not-so-subtlely inspecting Bailey.

"I can have the papers drawn up start of the week," Archie says, grinning.

"That fast?" Bailey says.

"I had an inkling this might happen," he says, and make sure that Seaborn can see his wink.

It's not entirely the truth--it's been a busy summer after all--but it's not a lie either. They don't need to know that three days is standard for Emmy at the legal office, and the tiny fib is certainly worth the shocked blush on his favorite neighbor's face.


	2. Nightfall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam is usually home by nightfall.

Sam is usually home by nightfall.

It's one of their unspoken rules, one of the things they both follow and understand even though they never speak about it. If he comes home late, he usually calls, though Will dreads those calls. Even though they're brief ( _Hey, I'm out. I'll be back soon._ ), he still has to bite back the urge to fill in the silences, which always sound wrong, no matter how they're talking or what they're talking about.

But Sam is home by nightfall and if he's not, he calls, and now it's after eight and there's still no Sam. The sun has sunken away, dinner is sitting cold on the table, and Will is starting to panic. The car is still in the driveway, so he couldn't have gone far, but there are still a million possibilities. He could be hurt or lost or dead in a ditch. He could be unconscious or bleeding. He could have been swallowed up by a fucking cornfield for all that Will knows, and he has his jacket and shoes on before he even realizes what he's doing, grabbing a flashlight and heading out of the house, trying to remember which was Sam turned when he left.

He takes a wild guess and turns left at the end of the driveway. There's a nearly full moon and a blanket of stars to light his way, so he doesn't turn on the flashlight, but he does hold it close. He's walked his quiet Iowa road a million times during the day, but it seems foreign and unreal at night, ready to snatch away his... his Sam at every turn. He's afraid, though he knows it's ludicrous, knows there's nothing to be afraid of. It's just Mr. Taylor's corn and soy, Maggie's cows across the street, and a long stretch of grayed out pavement rambling on in either direction, bleached by dust and the summer sun.

He repeats those things over in his head, reminds himself that this is his home, this is where he lives, he knows this street, he knows that no harm has come to Sam, here.

He knows it for sure when he sees Sam sitting cross-legged on the boulder at the end of Mr. Taylor's property.

Something like relief floods through Will, and for a moment, he's so overjoyed that Sam hasn't been killed or kidnapped that he's afraid he'll hug him, just throw his arms around Sam and hold on to make sure he doesn't leave again. That feeling is slowly replaced as the adrenaline still beating through his veins finds a new purpose, and he's filled with anger and frustration that's nearly palpable. He's sick of this, the silence and the disregard for Will's feelings, the way that he's twisted his life around to make sure Sam fits, to make sure he's not disturbed. He wants to shout until he's hoarse. He thinks he'd like to hit Sam, that he would if he didn't already know that Sam isn't just some guy in a bar or some idiot trying to pick a fight, that it's Sam, that Sam doesn't mean it, doesn't even realize it.

That Sam looks absolutely stunning sitting in the moonlight, face turned to the sky.

He watches Sam for a few minutes, hands twisting around the flashlight with the urge to touch. When he thinks he has himself under control, when he knows that he won't hit Sam or hug him, or say something he'll regret, he approaches the boulder.

"Sam?" he calls softly. Sam starts, and glances down at him, then glances at his watch, his eyes growing huge.

"I meant to call," he says quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize--"

"It's no problem," Will says. He gestures over his shoulder. "Let's go home, okay?"

Sam nods his assent, scrambles down onto the road, and shoves his hands into his pockets. They walk back to the house together, down the grayed out pavement, past the fields of soy and corn, across from Maggie's cows, and Will wonders if Sam is going to stick around long enough to become a part of the scenery himself.


	3. words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most disturbing thing isn't that Sam showed up, out of the blue, but that he's lost his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "a fragile connection."

By Sam's third day in Iowa, Will has mostly stopped hyperventilating every time he gets behind a closed door. He still panics and freezes up at the sight of Sam at his kitchen table, swinging on his porch, puttering around his bathroom, but he can sit in a room with Sam now. He can force a smile and have a conversation.

Well, one side of a conversation.

The Sam that Will knew all of those years ago may have faded to sepia-tinged memory, but Will knows he was never like this. Will remembers the debates, the laughter, the _words_. Will remembers words falling out of Sam's mouth, the most beautiful words he'd ever heard, the kind of words that would never stand for the silence that Sam is seeped in now, the silence that pervades Will's little house. The words that Sam does say are harsh and flat--half aborted sentences and hesitant questions. They have none of the power that Will is used to, none of the care.

That scares Will almost as much as the reality of Sam at his kitchen table, on his porch, in his bathroom.

Words were what they had in common. Words were what drew them together in the first place. In the myriad of politicians and political power players in the country, a love of words, a respect for their power, forged a fragile connection between the two of them, a connection that Will had hoped, had dreamed could become more.

But here's Sam, fifteen years later, fifteen years _older_ , sitting mute at his kitchen table. No words. No passion. No shine.

Will wonders what they could possibly have left.


	4. why did you wait?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will bumps into his ex in a grocery store.

Before Sam, Will dated an adjunct poetry professor named Mark Rose for about six months. It was long before Sam, actually, two years before Sam, when Will figured Sam was married to some woman working at some law firm, when Will figured he'd probably never see Sam again. Mark was nice enough. He wasn't pretentious at all, which was a surprise in a poet, but rather smart and savvy and down to earth. They dated casually for almost a year, before Mark set his sights on someone else.

"I like you," he said to Will. "I like you a lot. But I can't shake the feeling that you're waiting for something to happen and you're just with me in the interim."

Will couldn't argue with that, and he certainly couldn't hold Mark back from someone he could potentially care for. They said their goodbyes amicably, and it was just as well, because Mark's contract wasn't renewed for another year and will didn't think he had the patience for a long-distance relationship.

He's surprised, then, to bump into Mark when he and Sam are grocery shopping in town. They're arguing over coffee, he and Sam, because Sam has absolutely appalling taste in coffee, will drink the sludge they serve in the cafeteria on campus, and Will just can't allow that kind of malarkey in his kitchen.

"Will!" Mark says, grinning like a fool. "I was wondering if you were still around. How are you, man?"

"Mark?" Will says, and then grabs Sam's wrist as he tries to take advantage of Will's surprise to throw some instant coffee into their cart. "I'm... wow, I thought you were working at Northwestern. I mean--hi, wow, it's great to see you, I'm...."

He trails off, because how does he even describe how he is, how his life has turned upside down in the past six months?

"You found what you were waiting for," Mark says for him, smiling a little wryly.

"Yeah," Will says, squeezing Sam's wrist gently, breaking into a smile. "Yeah, you could say that."


	5. insomnia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will knows less about Sam's sleeping habits than he'd like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for the prompt "in the hours before the sunrise."

Will knows less about Sam's sleeping habits than he'd like.

No, no, that sounds--dirty. Tawdry. ( _Although_ , a part of him whispers, _You'd like to know more about that, too._ ) What he means is that Sam is usually still awake when Will shuffles off to bed and still in bed when Will gets up in the morning. Sometimes he'll hear the floorboards in the living room creak when he gets up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night and Will can't help but wonder if Sam is sleeping at all.

He thinks about it, sometimes, in the dark of his bedroom. Of Sam lying awake all hours of the night, unable to escape his demons even temporarily. He wonders if the insomnia hurts Sam the way it hurts Will, gritty and thick behind his eyes and in the back of his throat. He wonders if Sam curses the numbers on the clock or if they've just ceased to have any meaning at all, squiggles of light that are just as foreign as the long stretches of sky and the flat line of the horizon must seem.

He wonders what keeps Sam awake, if it's still, after all these years, the bitter taste of loss, or if it's more. A sense of failure, of wasted potential. A hopelessness. The dark, sharp knowledge that he doesn't know who he should, who he can be, if he has any worth.

The one thing Will knows is that it's not him keeping Sam awake, and that knowledge is cool and razor sharp and ironic as Will twists in his sheets and sighs as the grey light of pre-dawn filters in through his blinds and the meaningless squiggles glowing on his clock face taunt him from the nightstand.


	6. Summer Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam surprises Will at the start of a new term, and then a thunderstorm surprises them both.

Will is still trying to memorize the names and faces of his new class rosters when Sam knocks hesitantly on the door to his office. For a moment, he forgets where he is, frozen halfway through the act of gesturing Sam over to an arm chair that isn't there before he realizes, no, this is his office at the school, and no, Sam doesn't actually belong here.

"Hey," he says, looking up and giving Sam a confused smile. "This is a surprise."

"Wanna go get ice cream?" Sam asks. He leans against the side of the door and sticks his hands in his pockets. Will wants to say no, not ice cream, wants to peel Sam away from the door and lock it behind him, but he knows better, knows that the walls here have eyes and ears, and instead just nods.

"Sounds good," he says, and grabs his wallet from the desk. "Student Union?"

"No," Sam says. "Let's go to Petersen." 

Petersen Farms is about a two and a half mile walk from campus, but there's a cool breeze and the August sun is tucked behind a cloud, so he shrugs and follows Sam out towards town.

They don't talk much, but they never do, even now, even after the tension of their first few months together has broken. It's comfortable, though, familiar and easy and Will rolls up his shirt sleeves and leans into Sam's space without a second thought.

Will ignores the first few rain drops. He figures they're just a figment of his imagination, but when he feels Sam start and then squint up at the sky, he knows they're not just in his head. Before he can even voice his concerns about the weather, however, the dark clouds swirl in and the heavens open up. Sam makes an undignified noise, which Will comes very close to echoing when he jumps. He settles for swearing and wincing, glancing around them at the empty soy fields, the total lack of shelter.

"We're pretty screwed," he finally says, shouting over the roar of the rain, the rumble of thunder. 

"Pretty much," Sam agrees. They stand there, in the middle of the road, in the middle of a storm, until Sam finally shrugs. "Maybe we should get coffee at Marnie's instead," he says. Will considers this. It's not like they have many other choices. He takes Sam's offered hand and continues down the road, figuring there are worse places to be then stuck in the rain with Sam.


End file.
